How often has my sick boy yearn'd for this!
I have put him off as often; but to-day
I dared not--so much weaker, so much worse
For last day's journey. I was weeping for him:
He gave me his hand: 'I should be well again
If the good Count would give me----
COUNT.
Give me.
LADY GIOVANNA.
His falcon.
COUNT (_starts back_).
My falcon!
LADY GIOVANNA.
Yes, your falcon, Federigo!
COUNT.
Alas, I cannot!
LADY GIOVANNA.
Cannot? Even so!
I fear'd as much. O this unhappy world!
How shall I break it to him? how shall I tell him?
The boy may die: more blessed were the rags
Of some pale beggar-woman seeking alms
For her sick son, if he were like to live,
Than all my childless wealth, if mine must die.
I was to blame--the love you said you bore me--
My lord, we thank you for your entertainment,
[_With a stately curtsey_.
And so return--Heaven help him!--to our son.
[_Turns--_
COUNT (_rushes forward_).
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